The Case of the Missing Paintings
by Orbiting-Star
Summary: The Hardy Boys are working on a case of theft when they run into Nancy Drew, trying to solve the mysterious death of her father. Are the two crimes related? And what lies in store for Nancy and Frank? COMPLETED with Chapter 17 - 5th Sept 2008
1. Chapter 1

This is my first attempt at a Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew story. Please be gentle.

**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 1**

"We're going to New York."

Joe Hardy turned to see his older brother Frank standing in the doorway of the small office they shared on the upper floor of their home. They'd been working on some case files when his brother had been called to the phone.

"I take it that was Dad then," Joe presumed, turning in his chair while his brother sat down across from him.

"Yeah. He was pretty cagey, didn't really want to say what was up. He just told us to get to New York as fast as possible. I'm guessing he needs us on a case."

"I wonder what it could be," said Joe. Their father had been called away over a week ago, but neither of them had any clue what he was investigating.

Frank and Joe Hardy had joined their father in his private detective business, after many mystery-solving successes during their high school years. Although they usually took cases while their father was working on other assignments, Fenton Hardy often called on his sons for assistance. The Hardys had made a name for themselves across the whole of America as a crack investigating squad. They still lived at the family home in Bayport, which had recently been extended to accommodate an office and small but well-equipped laboratory for the boys.

"Well, I guess we better make some reservations for tomorrow morning's flight. I'll go and do that – why don't you go and break the bad news to Mum and Aunt Gertrude?" Joe quipped.

The elderly spinster still resided with the Hardy family, and still took interest in their sleuthing. She often told them that they were getting themselves into trouble, but was secretly very proud of their achievements.

"Why do I always get that part?" Frank complained, getting up from his seat.

"Because you, dear brother, are the one who reassures them that everything will be fine. I, on the other hand, am just looking for trouble, remember?" Joe smiled, then turned to their computer and logged on to the flight booking website.

The next morning, the two young men disembarked from the airplane at New York's airport, collected their baggage, and hailed a yellow cab.

"Where did Dad say to meet him, Frank?"

"He said he'd made reservations at the Mark Winter Hotel for us, and that we should check in and wait for him in our room. You know what Dad is like; he won't clue us in until he's ready to."

Joe sighed and looked out of the car window at the grey New York sky. The weather had been cloudy every since they left Bayport, and now rain was beginning to come down in a steady sheet. However, the prospect of a new case heartened Joe, and he was softly smiling to himself by the time they reached the hotel, situated in a busy street in the city.

Twenty minutes after checking in, there was a quiet knock on their door. Frank crossed the soft carpet and opened it to find his father, Fenton Hardy, standing outside looking as if he'd just had a shower fully clothed.

"Hi, Dad. You look…well, wet."

"Good to see you, Frank. It's horrible out there; the rain is getting worse by the minute."

After greeting Joe and drying off a little, Mr Hardy sat down and faced his sons, who were sitting on their beds with eager expressions. Mr Hardy, however, looked sombre.

"Come on, Dad, don't do this. Tell us what you've been working on so secretly this past week." Joe leant forward in anticipation.

"Boys, I hate to tell you this, but I'm stumped in this case. I honestly don't know what to do anymore." Fenton sighed and looked glum.

"Tell us all about it, Dad. Maybe we can help you shed some fresh light on whatever has happened. What has happened?" Frank said in his calming way.

Mr Hardy smiled a little, then said, "The National Art Museum has been robbed."

The boys looked at each other in shock. Joe blurted out, "How is that possible? I thought the National Art Museum was the most secure on the planet."

"Not to mention that their security system has just been upgraded," Frank added.

"I have no idea. That's what has me stumped. But it gets worse. A new exhibition had just opened of French paintings, mainly Monet and Manet, containing some of their most famous and priceless works. All of them were taken. The French authorities are in uproar. They are demanding an explanation, and the museum officials are looking to me to provide it."

"When did this happen, Dad? And why wasn't it in the paper – a big theft like that should have made global headlines?"

"The break-in occurred on Monday evening. Until now we've managed to keep it under wraps, but sooner or later the press are going to find out. Then everyone will want to know what happened, but so far nobody knows."

Fenton Hardy explained that none of the building's security systems had been alerted during the break in, and no traces of the intruders could be found, either in the museum building or the surrounding area.

"Sounds like an inside job to me," said Frank.

"That's what I thought too. However, I don't want to alert whoever is responsible that I am presuming that. That's where you two come in. I want you to look at that angle for me, while I pretend that the main investigation is still presuming an outside intruder. Hopefully, we'll be able to keep up the ploy for long enough that the thief will feel secure and make a move."

"Don't worry, Dad. We'll do our best." Both boys reassured their father that they would help him catch the perpetrators.

"Can we look over the museum?" Frank urged.

"I knew you'd want to, so I've had security passes made out for both of you. You must carry them at all times when you are in the museum. If you go over there now, the museum curator, Mr Greenward, will be waiting for you."

Fenton Hardy handed them two plastic cards on chains, which the boys pocketed, then said that he would not be accompanying them as he had a meeting with the city's chief of police. They arranged to meet for dinner in the hotel restaurant later in the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 2**

As Frank and Joe walked down the road towards the museum, the rain began to ease off, and soon the sun was shining again. Joe turned to Frank. "What a mystery, huh? A break-in occurs at the world's most secure museum, famous paintings are stolen, the thieves leave and no one can find a trace of them. It sounds like they just disappeared."

You're right, Joe. Hopefully we'll know more once we've see the museum…" Frank stopped, then groaned out loud.

"What's up?" Joe looked in the direction his brother pointed, to see a newspaper stand. The headline on the board read, "EXCLUSIVE: NATIONAL ART MUSEUM ROBBED; INVESTIGATORS CLUELESS."

"Damn it," Frank said under his breath, "I guess the pressure is on now. We'd best get going."

"Dad's going to be furious. I wonder how the press found out. Must be a leak somewhere. We should keep our eyes peeled: the person who tipped off the press could be linked to the robbers."

"Could be, but let's not jump to any conclusions. Come on, here's the entrance." Frank, walked up to the large glass doors of the Art Museum, which opened silently as he approached.

The Hardys walked up to the main desk, and Frank said politely, "Hi, we're here to see Mr Greenward. He's expecting us."

"Can I take your names please?" the girl at the desk said.

"I'm Joe Hardy, this is my brother Frank. And your name is…" Joe turned on the charm.

"Mr Greenward will be here in a moment." The assistant turned a stony gaze on Joe, then turned to the next customer.

"Bad luck, Joe. Looks like she's not interested." Frank smirked at his amorous brother. Joe always got distracted by a pretty girl. Things hadn't changed much since their high school days. Joe was always going out on dates, while Frank preferred to wait for something a bit more special to come along before he got involved.

As they looked over the modern, steel and glass interior, a small door opened in one corner of the room, and a man wearing an impeccably tailored suit and glasses approached them. He was wearing a security pass like the ones their father had given them.

"Are you Frank and Joe Hardy? I'm Mr Greenward, the curator."

Frank and Joe introduced themselves, then Mr Greenward asked to see their security passes. "Please understand. We're all a little…jumpy…about security matters at the moment." He inspected the passes carefully, then nodded and handed them back to the boys. "Please follow me."

He led them back to the steel door he had emerged from, then swiped his own security pass through a slot in the wall, causing the door to click open softly. "I'm going to take you around and show you the security system we have in place, so that you have an idea of what those blasted thieves overcame. They must have been incredibly well-equipped. How much has your father told you about what happened?"

"Not much, sir," said Joe, while glancing at the security cameras spaced at regular intervals. "All we know is that they broke in on Monday night and took all the new French exhibition."

A pained look crossed Mr Greenward's face. "It's a disaster for the gallery. Unless we can clear this up and retrieve the paintings, no museum will ever lend us a painting again. Not to mention that our own board of directors may decide to close us down. The existence of this valuable collection is in danger."

Changing the subject, Frank said, "Was anything else taken? Were any of the other exhibits disturbed?"

"Not as far as we can tell. It seems that the thieves were intent only on the French works." He explained that the special exhibition had been located in a slightly separate part of the building, and that doors linking it with the main gallery were locked and had not been opened.

"So it's possible that they couldn't get in to the rest of the building." Joe guessed.

"Yes…although I imagine that anyone who could get into this building at all could have got through a door if they really wanted to," Frank said, looking around the security centre they had now reached.

Around them, people were watching CCTV monitors covering every part of the museum, the service areas and car parks. Several screens also showed bright colours.

"Those are infra-red cameras, looking over the main exhibition area and special exhibit," the curator informed them. "They are used mainly at night. Any human entering would show up vividly against the cool temperature of the rooms."

As he continued to brief them on the security arrangements, Frank and Joe realised that the National Art Museum was not so much a museum as a fortress. With doors and windows bomb and bullet-proof, steel plates in the walls to prevent drilling, 10 feet of concrete to prevent tunnels, and enough security staff to man every inch of the building, it seemed that the thieves really were either invisible or could walk through walls.

"I'll take you now through the main museum up to the room where the paintings were stolen from. You'll notice that most of the doors are operated using the security cards you have. Obviously it is vital that you have it with you at all times. The doors in the main museum are operated this way as well, except during our opening hours."  
"What about after hours?" Frank asked.

"When the building is empty and the cleaning staff have gone home, I personally set a time lock for the next morning. Until that time all doors are locked, and cannot even be opened with the swipe cards. Only a code override is possible in emergencies, and it was not used on the night of the theft."

"Who else knows the code?"

"Only myself and the two deputy museum directors." He gave Frank and Joe their names.

Frank looked at Joe. "The mystery deepens."

As they walked through the museum, the Hardys could see many fine art pieces that they recognised. The gallery truly had a world class reputation, and stood to lose a lot if they could not solve the case.

Finally they arrived at a large locked door, bearing a sign: SPECIAL EXHIBIT. CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC DUE TO MAINTENANCE WORK.

However, Joe noticed several people standing around pointing and whispering. One of them held a newspaper. Joe and Frank both groaned.

Once they were inside, Greenward asked them what was wrong. They told him about the newspaper story on the theft.

Greenward sighed and put his head in his hands. "That's it. Unless you and your father can help us, the gallery is ruined."

Frank asked a question that had been bugging him. "Mr Greenward, do you know of anyone who may have an interest in ruining the gallery? Who are your competitors?"

Mr Greenward shook his head. "I have asked myself the same question many times. Of course, our new exhibit was a coup for the museum, especially with the holiday season approaching. Other museums may well have been jealous. But the art community is very supportive, and I can't imagine any of the other galleries being behind this. We all recognise the value and importance of displaying these great works to the public."He led them through several rooms, all of them empty. Only the picture hooks remained to attest to the great works of art that had once hung there.

"Do you know if the police found any clues or evidence here?"

"No, there was nothing." Mr Greenward replied. "Except this of course." He led them to a window, where a small, 6-inch round piece of glass was missing from the bottom corner. Frank immediately pulled off the covering plastic and inspected the damage, while Joe looked out of the window.

"We're on the 5th floor, Frank. There are no other level roofs or anything in sight from which someone could have accessed this window."

Frank straightened, magnifying glass in hand. "There aren't any marks around the cut either. Looks like it was done with a specialised glass cutter." However, there was something in his tone that sparked Joe's interest. Frank wasn't telling him the whole truth. Joe was about to ask, when he caught his brother give a sidelong glance at Mr Greenward, who was standing at a respectful distance. Knowing his brother well, Joe kept his mouth shut. The two boys made a quick search of the rest of the rooms, but found no other clues.

"When is the window being replaced, Mr Greenward?" Frank asked innocently.

"The repairman should be here any minute now. Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if it would be ok for us to keep the pane with the hole in it. It's the only piece of evidence we have so far, and I'd like to take another look at it." Again, there was a gleam in Frank's eye as the curator acquiesced to his request.

Five minutes later, a glass repairman arrived and within minutes, had replaced the damaged window. He handed the pane to Frank, wrapped up carefully.

"Is there anything else you would like to see?" Mr Greenward asked. "I must return to my office."

Frank said no, and said they could find their own way out of the museum. They said their goodbyes, and reassured the curator that they would be in touch.

As they left the museum, Joe asked, "So, what's the big mystery? Why do you want a pane of glass with a hole in it? Souvenir?"

"No. When I was inspecting the glass, it looked as if there were scratches around the edge of the hole from whatever was used to cut it. The weird thing was that the scratches were on the inside of the glass."

"So the glass was cut from the inside. I knew it was an inside job," Joe exclaimed.

"Certainly seems that way. What did you think of Greenward?"

"Can't say. Seemed pretty distraught about the whole business. Not surprising really, I had no idea that the affair might end up with the museum shut down."

"We need to talk to the other two people who have the code that locks down the building at night. If this really is an inside job, then one of them has to be involved somehow."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 3**

Meanwhile, Frank and Joe had reached a park bench and sat down. While they were still talking, Joe suddenly noticed two men sitting on another bench not far away. They seemed to be looking toward the Hardy's, but quickly averted their gaze.

"Keep talking, Frank. I think we're being watched. Two men, over your shoulder. They seem awfully interested in us."

"Let's see if they follow us as well." With that Frank got up, and the Hardys walked at a moderate speed away from the scene. Ten minutes later Frank and Joe stopped at a shop window, and used the reflections to check on their would-be stalkers.

"Do you see them, Joe?"

"Yes. One is leaning against a lamp post about 50 yards behind us, and the other is on the other side of the road looking at a shop window."

Another check five minutes later confirmed that they were being followed.

"What should we do, Frank?"

"I say let's turn the tables on them. We'll drop this glass pane off at the hotel safe, then go out for another walk. I'm guessing they'll keep following us, then we'll turn around, bump into them and see if we can't get some answers." Joe agreed. After all, this was their first lead apart from the window.

After dropping the glass off in the hotel safe without incident, Frank insisted they leave a note for their father telling him they had gone out to get a pizza – their private code for letting him know they were following a lead. The two men were still there, waiting across the street trying hard to look inconspicuous. Frank had brought his small pen camera, and managed to take a few snaps of their two shadows, before he and Joe strolled off towards a smaller side road a few blocks from the hotel. As they entered the narrow street, the two Hardy's hid behind some trash cans and waited for their victims. However, as soon as the Hardy's charged towards them from their hiding places, they turned and ran headlong for the main road.

"Dammit, Frank, we have to catch them before they mingle with the crowds!" shouted Joe, already charging off with Frank hard on his heels. They hadn't gotten far though, before Joe collided with a woman coming from a smaller alley. Unable to stop in time, he knocked her over and they landed in a tangled heap, Frank barely able to avoid adding himself to the pile.

"I'm so sorry, madam," he said, stretching out his hand to help her back onto her feet, "my idiot brother was…Nancy!"

"Frank – Joe!" Nancy Drew exclaimed, while unsuccessfully trying to wipe down her muddy attire. "I wasn't expecting to run into you in New York – especially not literally! Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Trying to catch some suspicious characters," Joe explained, while ruefully looking down the alley where their quarry had disappeared without a trace. "Looks like they got away."

"I'm sorry, guys – I hope I haven't messed up your sleuthing," said Nancy. She was well acquainted with the Hardy's, as well as their crime-fighting reputation.

"Don't worry, Nancy – we'll catch them another time." Frank's eyes rested on her slight figure, not noticing the now bedraggled state of her hair and clothes.

Nancy Drew hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen her – her hair was still bright auburn, and her figure as light and pleasing as ever. But there was a sad droop in her eyes, and she looked tired.

"Listen, Nancy – why don't you come back to the hotel and dry off? It's only round the corner, and we owe you as much for putting you in this state. We're meeting Dad for dinner later, and I'm sure he'd be as pleased to see you as I…I mean, we are," Frank suggested.

Nancy smiled up at his handsome features. "I'd love to. It's been a while since I've seen you all, and I want to catch up on the news."

Joe, taking the cue, snatched up her bags from where she'd dropped them, and smiled at her, "Come on then, Nancy. We have warm towels and hair dryers awaiting you."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 4**

Nancy emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a soft robe and a towel around her hair. Her cheeks were flushed from the hot shower, and as she reached for the hairdryer, a knock came at the door.

"Nancy?" Frank's voice called. "Can we come in?"

"Yes of course." She turned to see Frank and Joe piling in the door, followed by Fenton Hardy. "Hi, Mr. Hardy."

"Hello Nancy. It's so good to see you." Fenton crossed the floor to give her a fatherly peck on the cheek.

"I dropped your clothes off at the cleaners," Joe piped up, "they should be ready within the hour."

She smiled her thanks as the Hardys found seats around the room. A slightly awkward pause ensued, before Fenton finally spoke up.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't come to your father's funeral, Nancy. We were in the Middle East – we didn't even hear about it until we got back. How are you doing?"

"Not too bad considering the circumstances," Nancy replied. Her shoulders drooped momentarily, as she remembered the reason she was in New York. Frank's voice interrupted her reverie.

"What brings you to New York, Nancy? I can't imagine it's the weather." He frowned at the rain-splashed window panes.

Nancy straightened. "Actually, it's Dad that brings me here. I came here to find out who murdered him."

"But…I was told that Carson died of heart failure – in his bed!" exclaimed Fenton.

"You're right – he did," Nancy replied. "But I had an autopsy performed, just to be on the safe side, and there were traces of poison in his blood."

As the Hardys listened, Nancy explained that the poison found in her fathers body was a slow-acting poison called Diretol 5, which caused the heart to gradually fail over a period of a few weeks. The poison had been mixed in with the cereal that Carson ate for breakfast every morning, which none of the rest of the family partook of.

"Whoever murdered my father had done their research. The effects of Diretol 5 are almost indistinguishable from natural heart failure, and it isn't retained in the body for more than a few hours. I was just lucky that the autopsy was done quickly enough to detect it."

Joe was already in full investigative gear. "So whoever it was must have not only an extensive knowledge of drugs, but have had access to your house and known about your father's eating habits."

"Not just that, Joe. As far as I know Diretol 5 is pretty hard to get hold of. It's not manufactured in the US, and it can't be imported. The perpetrators either smuggled it in or manufactured it themselves," Fenton added.

"Do you have any other leads, Nancy?" Frank asked.

"Not really. I'm in New York for two reasons. One is that there is a chemist at the university who might be able to tell me more about the drug and who could have made it. The other is that the last case my dad was working on involved a gang of some kind here in NY. I have a hunch that they might be behind this, but I don't know enough yet. My dad had been tracking them down for a while, but he hadn't managed to get any clear evidence for what they were up to before… He said he thought they might be art thieves, but there wasn't anything else to go on."

"Art thieves?" Joe exclaimed. "But…that could relate to our case!"

The Hardys briefed Nancy on the theft from the National Art Museum, including the evidence from the pane of glass and their suspicions about an inside job.

"This certainly is strange," Nancy said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to help you – it's the best lead I've got so far, and I'm running out of ideas."

"Of course, Nancy." Fenton stood up and shook her hand on the deal. "I think it would be best though if you stayed undercover. If you show up helping us, it might alert the thieves that we've discovered the coincidences between the cases."

Frank now spoke up. "I wonder…who had access to the cereal box in your house, Nancy?"

"Other than Hannah and myself, no one. We did have a gardener for a while. I tried to trace him, but couldn't find any leads."

On a hunch, Frank pulled out the photos he'd taken of the two men who had followed Joe and him earlier. "It wasn't one of these guys, by any chance?"

Nancy exclaimed. "Yes! Him, on the right. He called himself Miguel, but that wasn't his real name."

"Looks like our suspicions were right, Dad. The two cases are linked. Nancy's dad was on the trail of our art thieves, and they murdered him before he could get in the way."

Fenton agreed. Nancy offered to bring all her dad's files on the case to the hotel the next day, and the four sleuths agreed to meet in the morning to discuss their strategy.

The rest of the evening was spent more peacefully. Nancy felt more at ease – now that she had a good lead on her father's killers, and the help of the Hardys, her confidence was restored. Frank and Joe, mindful of her quiet grief for her father, steered the conversation towards other topics, and they caught up on news and related stories of unusual cases to each other. By the time dinner was over, Nancy was smiling as she stepped in to the cab and went back to her own hotel.

Later, while Frank was getting ready for bed, Joe said, "Nancy's a pretty amazing girl. Don't you think?"

Frank turned, and rebuked his brother with more venom than was perhaps necessary. "Joe, don't you dare start on her. She's just lost her father. She needs our help, not you chasing after her."  
"Alright, alright." Joe held up his hands in defence, and dropped the subject.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's notes: I don't usually write extensive notes, but there were just a few things.

First, I've been overwhelmed by the positive response to my little story. Thank you all for your reviews. I'll try to keep chapters coming as quickly as possible, but I do have a dissertation to write as well, so bear with me.

Secondly, it's been a while since I started this story, and my plans for the plot have changed slightly. I think I've ironed out any inaccuracies, but if anyone spots any glaring inconsistencies, please let me know.

Thirdly, I apologise to anyone who is a chemist. I'm not, beyond the basics, so this chapter will need to be taken on good faith.

On with the story!

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 5**

The next morning, Joe wandered into the hotel lounge after breakfast to find Frank watching the news. The headlines were sadly familiar.

"After yesterday's shocking news of a theft at the New York National Art Museum, investigators have been inundated with requests for more information. We're going live now to a press conference in New York."

The picture changed to show Mr Greenward, the curator the boys had met yesterday, the city's chief of police and Fenton Hardy, all looking like they hadn't had enough sleep.

"So that's why Dad had to leave so early this morning," Joe said to his brother.

Mr Greenward was warding off the questions the reporters were firing at him.

"Now, gentlemen, I'm sure you understand that while the investigation is in progress, we can't divulge any information about the theft. I assure you that we have all the best people working on the case, including Mr Hardy."

"Mr Hardy," one of the reporters shouted over the chaos, "are your sons working with you on this case?"

Fenton nodded. Another reporter stood up.

"Mr Hardy, we've also heard reports that Miss Nancy Drew, the investigator from River Heights, is also working with you? Can you confirm this?"

Fenton frowned. "Although we did run into Miss Drew yesterday, she is not involved with these investigations. Her business in New York has nothing to do with this case." Frank and Joe looked at each other. How had the press found out that they'd met Nancy yesterday? Their father was trying to deflect attention from her, but it was worrying that the press knew so much.

"Mr Hardy, can you confirm rumours of a relationship between Miss Drew and your son…"

Frank switched off the TV just in time to see Nancy come into the lounge, looking refreshed and ready for action. After the usual pleasantries, Frank asked, "What are your plans for today, Nancy?"

"I'm meeting with Professor Mitchell at the university. He should be able to tell me more about the poison."

Joe said, "I'm going to head over to that newspaper that broke the story of the theft yesterday. I'll try and find out who their contact is – the press know too much for it to be a coincidence."

"Do you need any help?" Frank asked him.

"Nah, I think I can handle a few reporters. You go with Nancy."

Frank asked her if she minded his company. "Of course not," came the quick reply. They agreed to meet back at the hotel at lunchtime to compare results. Frank and Joe had also arranged a meeting with the other two directors of the art museum, to try and find out whether either of them had divulged the code for the security override.

As Frank and Nancy made their way to the university, they chatted about other topics. Just for a moment, Frank allowed himself to imagine that they were just two friends on vacation, not chasing a band of thieves and murderers. He wished they could just take a holiday; Nancy especially needed a break, and said as much to her.

She shook her head. "Where would I go? Bess and George are both too busy now with their jobs to take me on holiday, and I hate travelling by myself."

"Well, I was thinking you could make Bayport your holiday destination," Frank said with a small smile. "The sea is warm, the food is excellent and the lodging is free."

Nancy smiled at him. "I just might do that." Then she announced that they'd arrived at Professor Mitchell's office.

Their knock was answered by a wizened old man, who looked like anything but America's authority on dangerous chemicals. Frank warmed to him immediately. The professor beckoned them into his office, which was overcrowded with books, papers and piles of lecture slides covering the desk.

"Nancy! I'm so glad to see you. It's been such a long time."

"Hi, Professor. Can I introduce you to Frank Hardy? Professor Mitchell knew my dad – they were good friends."

After the introductions had been made, the professor leaned back and steepled his hands. "I was shocked to hear about your father's death, Nancy. I must say I was even more surprised when I received your phone call. I'm not sure how I can help you – heart attacks aren't my speciality."

Nancy explained about the Diretol 5. "The police couldn't tell me much about the chemical. I was hoping you'd be able to shed more light on it."

After overcoming his shock on learning that his friend had been murdered, the professor gathered his thoughts. "Diretol 5. Yes, it's a very dangerous chemical. It's not only poisonous; it can leach into water and cause many health problems, especially in children. It's illegal in most countries."

Frank asked which countries the chemical could have been obtained from.

"As far as I know, the only country where Diretol 5 is routinely manufactured is North Korea. It's used there as a type of pesticide, but even there it is a strictly controlled substance. Liberating it would not be easy."

"Could it be manufactured secretly here? What kind of facilities would be required to make it?" Nancy asked.

"I suppose it could be manufactured here with the correct equipment. It's a difficult chemical to get right though, especially on a small scale. Whoever was making it would need a thorough knowledge of organic and inorganic chemistry, as well as great practical skill and patience. And getting hold of the ingredients…" The professor trailed off, lost in thought.

Nancy looked at Frank, alarmed. "Professor?"

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid…" The professor dug out a sheet of paper from one of his seemingly disorganised piles. "This memo was sent around the university about three months ago. A small quantity of CMC, or sodium carboxymethyl cellulose, went missing from the department. I didn't think much of it at the time, as it's a perfectly innocuous substance, used in wallpaper paste." He looked at them gravely. "Unfortunately, it also happens to be the main base ingredient in the manufacture of the Diretol group of chemicals."

Frank looked at Nancy. "Looks like the poison _was_ manufactured here after all. Probably right here in New York, in fact."

Nancy leaned forward. "Professor – do you know of anyone here in New York or the surrounding area who has the equipment and knowledge to make this chemical?"

Professor Mitchell thought deeply for a moment. "I had one student a few years ago. He was an extremely talented chemist – nothing ever seemed to go wrong with his concoctions. He graduated three years ago. We all had high hopes that he would come back to complete a doctorate, but we've not heard anything from him since. I'm not sure where he would get the equipment, but he would be capable of replicating the process. His name was Jonathan Swanson. He's the only one I can think of. The office downstairs should be able to give you his last known address."

Frank and Nancy thanked the professor profusely. They'd come a long way since the morning. It seemed clear now that the chemical had been manufactured in the USA rather than imported, and they had the name of a person who was capable of doing it.

As the professor escorted them out of the building, he gave Nancy a fatherly hug. "Please look after yourself, Nancy, and you, Mr Hardy. Anyone ruthless enough to murder Carson in this way must have very few scruples."

Frank nodded, and he and Nancy headed back to the hotel.

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Read? Review! 


	6. Chapter 6

AN:- Quite a few people have commented on the reporter's unusual curiosity about Nancy and Frank's 'relationship'. I'm working on the premise here that not only are the Hardys and Nancy reasonably well known, but there's been speculation about them before. Hope that explains why I put that in. Besides, I couldn't resist the fun!

Please keep reviewing – I like to know how I'm doing!

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 6**

While Nancy and Frank were at the university, Joe paid a visit to the offices of the newspaper that had run the exclusive story on the theft from the art museum. On arrival, he was pointed in the direction of one of the reporter's cubicles in the middle of the large, open-plan newspaper office. The reporter he'd been directed towards barely glanced at Joe when he offered a friendly greeting.

"What?" he barked.

Joe cleared his throat. "I'm looking for the person who wrote the exclusive on the theft from the National Art Museum. Am I in the right place?" he asked politely.

The reporter leaned back in his chair and regarded the young man in front of him. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Joe Hardy. I'm…"

He was swiftly interrupted. "_The_ Joe Hardy? The one whose father can't seem to find out who perpetrated the crime?" the reporter asked, a predatory gleam in his eye.

"That's right. I just want to know…"

"So how about an interview? Can you tell me about the investigation? Do you have any leads on suspects yet? And what about the rumours about Nancy Drew…?"

"Look here," – this time it was an exasperated Joe who interrupted – "I'm the one who's going to be asking the questions for now, starting with your name."

Still hopeful he was going to get a story out of the encounter, the reporter decided to play nice. "Name's Buck Holland. I've been working for this paper for about a year. This story is gonna be my big break, getting an exclusive like that – doesn't come along every day, and my boss was really pleased."

"Care to tell me how you came by the information?" Joe queried.

"Sorry, mate, but you know how it is – if I give up my sources, my reputation as a reporter will be shot to pieces."

"I don't think you realise that a major crime has been perpetrated. It's your responsibility to pass on any information that could aid the investigation," Joe pushed him.

Buck Holland's gaze became stony. "I can't help you. Sorry."

Joe was non-plussed. "If you don't tell me, someone else will."

"I doubt that. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm a busy man." Holland turned back to his desk and steadfastly ignored Joe.

Sure that there was more information to be got from the suspicious reporter, Joe gave the impression of walking away slowly. When no one was looking his way, he ducked into an empty cubicle not far from Holland's desk.

A few minutes went by, until the man looked up and scanned the room. Then he quickly picked up his phone and dialled a number. Joe strained his ears to hear the conversation but could only pick up fragments. A momentary lull in the background noise allowed him to hear Holland saying,

"…those interfering Hardys. They suspect I know about you, but…"

Joe held his breath. He knew that there'd been something not right about the circumstances of the news leak, and it seemed to be confirmed. The reporter's suspicious change in tone had indicated he knew more than he was willing to admit. If only Joe could find out who he was talking to!

Moments later, Holland ended the call and left his seat, headed for the coffee machine in the far corner of the room. He passed close by to where Joe was hiding, but didn't spot him. Once Joe knew he was out of the way, he ran quickly to Holland's desk and dialled the redial button. The number flashed up on the LCD of the phone, and Joe quickly pulled a pen out of his pocket and wrote it on the back of his hand. Seeing Holland heading towards, Joe made a beeline for the door, hoping Holland wouldn't see him. No one shouted, though, and Joe made it out of the office with a big smile on his face and a mobile number written on the back of his hand.

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Back at the hotel, Joe, Frank and Nancy compared notes over lunch. Frank and Nancy were impressed by Joe's success at the newspaper, but Nancy was worried.

"What if he did spot you, Joe? He might alert the thieves that we're on to them."

"It's a risk I had to take. At least this way we have a chance of finding out where they might be hiding. I've already contacted the police, and they've started a location scan for the phone. It's going to take a while though."

"Good work though, Joe. Even if they have figured out we're on to them and scarper, they won't have much time to hide their tracks. With a bit of luck, they'll leave plenty of evidence behind," Frank added.

"So what's the plan for this afternoon?" Joe asked after a short pause.

"We have that appointment with the museum directors. They're the only ones who have the code to the museum override – if the thieves got in that way, one of them must have spilled the code."

"I don't see how else they could have got in. None of the alarms were set off, and the only way to switch them off is with that code," Nancy mused.

"What are your plans, Nancy?" Frank turned to her.

"My dad's files have arrived. I'm going to stay here and go through them with a fine tooth comb. Perhaps something will jump out at me now that we know more. And the police said they might have some information on our mysterious chemistry graduate later today."

"Are you sure you'll be ok here?" Frank was concerned for her safety. The professor's warning from earlier was on his mind more than he liked to admit.

"Of course, Frank. Don't worry. Besides, your dad said he was going to be back by 3 o'clock. I'll be fine. You two go to your meeting, and I'll let you know if there's any news."

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Read? Review! 


	7. Chapter 7

I'm really sorry this took me so long, but I've been ill, and then had a lot of work to catch up on. For that reason, this chapter is a little shorter than I intended, but I hope you enjoy anyway. Thank you for all your kind reviews - please keep them coming.

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 7**

Frank and Joe entered the museum, and headed over to the security entrance. They'd been informed that the two museum directors would meet them in the conference suite. Letting themselves through the door with their swipe cards, the two young men made their way there.

Inside, a tall, slightly portly man was waiting for them.

"Frank and Joe Hardy? My name is Walter Featherstone. I'm afraid Mr Gilbert couldn't make this meeting, but you won't need to speak to him once you have heard what I have to say."

"What do you mean, sir?" Frank asked, curious.

Featherstone gestured towards the comfortable leather chairs at the table. "Please, sit down. It's a long story."

As Frank and Joe sat, they noticed that, although impeccably groomed, Mr Featherstone looked tired and strained. There were deep lines around his eyes, and his glasses didn't quite hide the dullness in them.

They waited patiently for a few minutes. Mr Featherstone seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Finally, he looked at them with resignation on his face.

"Gentlemen, there is no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. I hope that, once you have heard my explanation, you will not think too harshly of me. I understand that you will have to report my actions to the authorities… But then it is of no consequence what happens to me."

Frank leaned forward. "Sir, are you saying you had something to do with the theft at the museum?"

"Yes."

Frank and Joe were astonished, but the director gave them no time to voice their astonishment.

"I provided the codes for the gang to get into the museum and disable the alarm system. I also provided information on the guard rotation, and the thieves were able to trick the guards into missing their shift, leaving the museum empty. I am to blame for the theft on the museum."

Words couldn't describe the shock Joe and Frank felt. This man was sitting here calmly confessing to a crime that would give him a lengthy jail sentence, yet he seemed completely unmoved. Something wasn't right about this situation, Frank could feel it. He managed to overcome his shock to ask, "Mr Featherstone, I think the obvious question is why you did this. There is something you're not telling us. If you want us to help you, you have to tell us everything."

"I assure you, Mr Hardy, my actions were not precipitated by any ill will towards the museum on my behalf. Quite the contrary is true – this museum is extremely important to me. I have been a director for fifteen years, and never once regretted taking up the post. However, the thieves used something against me that is even more precious to me than the museum. They kidnapped my daughter."

Frank and Joe listened in horror as Mr Featherstone revealed his tale.

"My daughter, Emiliy, is seventeen years old. Her mother died when she was a baby, and we are everything to each other. The thieves kidnapped her from her school around four weeks ago. I was frantic when she didn't come home, but I soon received the group's demands. As long as I co-operated and helped them get into the museum undetected, she would be unharmed. They promised to return her to me once they were sure they had escaped without detection. They also said that if I told anyone at all, they would kill her. They have spies in the police department, Mr Hardy, so I knew they would know if I betrayed them. What could I have done? I provided the information they needed. It broke my heart to do it…" He trailed off for a minute, lost in thought, and this gave Joe the chance to ask a question.

"Why are you telling us this if you're so worried they will harm her?"

The answer was heart-wrenching. "Because my daughter is dead. They promised to return her no later than one week after the theft. It has been two weeks. I have no other explanation other than the worst. I did everything they asked. She is dead. This is why I am telling you – I have no reason not to now. And there is no reason for me to continue with my life without her. I don't care if I go to prison, gentlemen. Please, do what you have to do."

Frank wasn't entirely sure what to say. The man was clearly too distraught with grief to think clearly. The daughter could still be alive. He tried to convey this to Mr Featherstone, but the grief-stricken father clearly thought Frank was grasping at straws.

"Believe me, Mr Hardy, this group are incredibly ruthless; they will do anything to reach their goal. If it suited them to kill Emily, they would have done so without a second thought. They have no scruples."

Joe chimed in, "Did you hear anything from your daughter while they had her? Did they let you speak to her?"

"Yes, once. I recorded the conversation…it's now the only memento I have of her." Joe immediately asked if he could borrow the recording, hoping it might reveal a clue about the whereabouts of the captive. He was by no means convinced the girl was dead, but they needed to move quickly to have any hope of saving her.

Featherstone handed him a tape. "Of course. Please return it though, when you have finished with it."

"Do you know anything about the group you haven't told us yet, sir? Anything at all?" Frank asked.

"Not really. They were always very clever, never telling me their names or locations. My initial contact called himself Ringo, but I know that isn't his real name. They never gave me any other information."

"Ok, Mr Featherstone." Frank rose, glancing at Joe, who did likewise. "Thank you for being so honest with us. We'll do our best to find the people responsible."

"Aren't you going to arrest me?" the man asked, a faint tremor creeping into his voice.

"We'll have to inform the police of your involvement, of course, but we won't be in any rush about it. Just… don't leave town," Joe said, with a faint smile. "We can find our own way out."

Both Frank and Joe were lost in thought as they made their way back to the hotel to inform Fenton and Nancy. It seemed too terrible to believe that the thieves had become the murderers of an innocent teenage girl, but they had to admit the possibility. Still, the Hardys were not going to be beaten by a gang of thieves, and even if the unthinkable had happened, they still had to try and catch them and bring them to justice. Hopefully, there would be something on the tape that would help them further.

Arriving back at the hotel, a shock awaited them. Fenton was standing in the lobby looking severely distraught. He turned to them as they came in.

"Nancy's gone!"

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Evil cliffhanger I know, but I'll try to get the next chapter up asap. In the meantime, reviews make me write faster! 


	8. Chapter 8

**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 8**

Frank felt like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. As Joe demanded answers from his father, all Frank could do was stand there and run the terrible truth through his head.

"Dad, I thought you were going to be here all afternoon," Frank heard Joe ask. "What the hell happened?"

"I was delayed at the police department. The chief thinks he's found a spy within his force – someone has been passing along information that no one else should know. I think his suspicions are right, so we spent the afternoon narrowing down the list of possibilities. By the time I got back here, Nancy was no where to be found. Her files are still here – she put them back in the safe – but she's gone. The receptionist told me he saw two men walking towards the lift but they didn't come back out again. I guess they took the back entrance. There's nothing missing, but it appears there was a struggle upstairs."

"We have to do something, Dad. If this gang have taken Nancy, she's in major trouble." Joe filled Fenton in on what they had learned from Mr Featherstone. Fenton sank into a chair.

"It all makes sense now. They must have figured that Featherstone was vulnerable through his daughter, and used her to coerce him into helping them. That doesn't mean she's dead though. We'd better get going, for hers and Nancy's sake."

Joe said, "Think about it though, Dad. If they're desperate enough to take Nancy, they must know that we're close to finding them. Maybe we'll hear from them."

"Maybe, Joe, but we need to try and find them first. We need to get the upper hand here – so far, they've been leading us around. It's time to turn the tables."

Joe suggested he go through the tape that Featherstone had provided them with, to see if it held any clues. Fenton, meanwhile, went to inform the police and asked them whether they'd spoken to Nancy regarding the student chemist they'd been trying to locate on Professor Mitchell's information. He also took Nancy's files back out of the safe, in the hope that she'd left them some clue, or managed to deduce any more information.

Joe turned to Frank, who was staring out of the lobby window. "Frank…"

He didn't even turn around. "Just…give me a minute, Joe."

Joe left, knowing full well what was going through his brother's mind, but knowing equally well that Frank wouldn't talk about it until he was ready. Since his break-up with Callie, Frank had been pretty taciturn about his feelings, but Joe was certain that he felt more than friendship for Nancy. It was there in everything he said and did concerning her. Frank just hadn't let himself admit it, not even to himself. Joe just hoped that it wouldn't be too late for his brother to tell Nancy how he felt when they found her. With the resolve to find Nancy so that his brother could do just that, he began work on the tape recording.

Frank's mind wasn't quite sure what was happening. He felt like he was drowning. One part of him wanted to rush out, find Nancy and bring her back, no matter what he had to do to make it happen. Another part of him was filled with dread that the fate that Emily Featherstone might have suffered might also be Nancy's fate. He quickly pushed that thought aside. Nancy couldn't be dead. She was strong and resourceful. Besides, Frank knew that if she was, he would feel it. The connection there had always been between them, of knowing exactly what the other was thinking and feeling, had only become stronger in the last few days. Working in such close proximity to her and seeing her every day had strengthened his bond to her, a bond he had never really understood, and always pushed away from him because of Callie. He knew she had done the same for Ned's sake. But Callie was out of the picture, and Nancy hadn't mentioned Ned all week. Frank realised, with a sudden flash akin to lightning, that his suppressed feelings for Nancy had blossomed into something he couldn't quite name, but was sure meant something more than the sisterly friendship they'd had before. She was the world to him. It was so clear now. And his world was crashing down around his ears now that she was gone.

As Frank stared out of the window, he became filled with a huge, pressing guilt that threatened to bring him to his knees. He felt guilty for not protecting Nancy, for not being there when she needed him most. He felt guilty that he was just standing here, feeling incapable of helping her, when he should be out looking for her. Most of all, he felt guilt that he had never told her how he felt. He would never forgive himself if… Frank had no idea how Nancy felt, but right now, the most important thing seemed to be to tell her how important she was to him, no matter the consequences. If he never had the chance to say that to her, what would he do?

Frank continued to stare out into the New York rain, a solitary tear running down his face.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: This is an extended version of Chapter 9, edited 10th June 2006. As some people commented, the original was way too short, so I've moved a scene that I think works better here than where I was going to put it originally. Hope you enjoy!

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 9**

Nancy woke with a pounding head and aching limbs. For a few moments, she struggled to surface from the dream she'd just had. There had been something about some art thieves, and chemistry, and Frank had been there…

Coming more awake, Nancy sat up, then immediately groaned again as her headache intensified. Shading her eyes, she was startled by a female voice behind her.

"You're awake! How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit on the head. Which I did. I think. Where am I?" Nancy said, still trying to piece together the disjointed pictures in her mind.

"I'm not sure where we are. Here." A damp cloth appeared in front of Nancy, and she gratefully applied it to the bump on her forehead. After a few moments, the pain receded enough that she was able to open her eyes. In front of her was a pretty teenage girl with a concerned look on her face.

"Hi. I'm Nancy Drew…"

"Yes, I know. They told me when they brought you here. Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Emily Featherstone."

Something about the name seemed familiar to Nancy, but she couldn't place it. "Do you know what's going on?"

"Yes. I've been stuck here for nearly six weeks ago. I was kidnapped by a gang of thieves, to blackmail my father into giving up the security codes for the art museum in New York. Last night, they brought you here. You were knocked out cold."

"They took me from the hotel I'm staying at it. I'm working on the theft case." Nancy remembered why Emily's name had seemed familiar – Frank and Joe had mentioned her father as one of the deputy directors.

Beginning to feel better, Nancy assessed her surroundings. She and Emily appeared to be confined in a simple wooden shed, with just one small window and a dim lightbulb to illuminate the small space. It was bare apart from a thin mattress, a bucket in the corner, and a half empty bottle of water. The whole place looked old and rickety. There was nothing rickety about the door, however, which looked brand new, and appeared to have a strong lock fitted.

"Did you say you've been here six weeks?"

"Yes. They come most days to bring me food and water…but they won't tell me where I am, and I haven't been allowed to speak to my father for weeks. He probably thinks I'm dead…"

Getting to her feet, Nancy took a closer look at the girl and noticed the streaks of dirt and exhaustion on her face. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll be able to get out of here."

"Do you think? I know you're a famous sleuth, but I don't see how we can get through that door, and I already tried the window – it's much too small."

Feeling better by the minute, Nancy smiled. "Famous sleuths are also always prepared. When do they usually come to bring you food?"

"About six o'clock, as far as I can tell. In about two hours from now." Emily watched in wonder as Nancy sat down, took off her left shoe and revealed a hidden compartment under the inside sole. Inside was concealed a small lock pick.

Nancy grinned. "Want to get out of here?"

Emily's face lit up. "Awesome."

At that moment, however, there was the sound of footsteps at the door. Nancy just had time to conceal the lock pick in her pocket before the door swung open and two men entered. The first, clearly the leader, fixated Nancy with a dark gaze.

"Nancy Drew."

"At your service, albeit unwillingly," Nancy replied, trying to discern the men's features. Both were stood in the dim shadows of the room, and she couldn't see their faces clearly. "Don't you think it would be polite to introduce yourselves? Seeing as we are in such_ polite_ company here." Nancy's voice dripped with sarcasm. However, the appearance of a gun in the second man's hand pulled her up short. She couldn't risk herself or Emily getting hurt.

"Don't be so naive, Miss Drew. I have no intention of revealing my name to you. Bad enough that we have been forced into…removing…you from the investigation. I'm not going to make the game any easier for you. If you must give me a name, call me Ringo." The man smirked at her.

"Why have you kidnapped me? Risky thing to do, really, considering who I'm working with. The Hardy's aren't stupid, and your men left quite a mess in my hotel room. They'll figure it out."

"I doubt very much that they'll find you. We're in a safe location, although we will be moving house soon, just to safeguard our valuable new _acquisitions_." Ringo directed his gaze at Emily Featherstone. "Miss Featherstone. I trust you are comfortable here."

Nancy prayed that the girl wouldn't be cowed by the man's appearance or tone, but the teenager proved herself equal to the situation. Her voice was steady as she said, "Not so comfortable that I wouldn't prefer to go home."

"I'm afraid that's not going to be possible any more." Emily couldn't stop herself from gasping slightly, and Nancy moved to her side to comfort her. The sharp prod of the lock pick in her pocket gave her confidence.

"Your father, Miss Featherstone, has been talking out of turn. He met with the Hardy's yesterday. Does he value your life at so little that he would break our agreement?"

"It was a routine meeting," Nancy said quickly. "I doubt that Mr Featherstone said anything."

"Nevertheless, we cannot now release you. Both of you. Expect a long stay with us, Miss Drew, until we have figured out how to prevent the Hardy's from finding you."

Emily stepped forward boldly. "You promised I could go home."

The man's smirk deepened. "And who ever told you to trust the word of a criminal, my dear?" With that, he turned and made to step out of the door.

"Wait!" Nancy called. "I have to know. Why did you kill my father? Was it just because he was on your trail?" She held her breath, knowing the question had been risky but unable to stop herself from confronting someone she suspected to be connected with her father's murder.

Ringo turned and looked at her. "My dear girl, your father was a very dangerous man. He got in my way once before, and I wasn't about to let that happen again." With a final smile, the man turned to go. "You had better hope that you don't experience a similar fate."

As the door clanged shut, Nancy studied the floor, frustrated and angry to have been so close to getting some answers, both about her father's murder and the missing paintings, and yet having failed to make any significant progress. Eventually she looked up at Emily, who was studying her with a look of both sympathy and hope.

"I'm sorry about your dad. I didn't know…"

"It's ok." Nancy shook herself mentally and forced herself to concentrate on their present situation. The quicker they got out of here, the better.

"Time to go now?" Emily looked hopeful.

"We'd better wait until we're sure they've gone. We'll give it an hour, and then go. We can't risk staying too long, though – it sounds like they're planning to move us and the paintings soon, and we can't let that happen!"


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Please be aware that I have extended the previous chapter (9). If you read it before 10th June 2006, please go back and read the updated version! As always, comments and reviews very welcome.

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 10**

Joe looked up as his brother Frank strode into their room at the hotel where he had set up his equipment. He studied Frank's face, but although pale, his brother looked calm and controlled.

"Anything new, Joe?"

"Actually, I've made some headway. I've been working on Mr Featherstone's tape, eliminating various wavelengths to try and make it clearer. There's some background noise which could pinpoint possible locations, but I'm still trying to isolate it. Want to give me a hand?"

"Sure. Let me have a listen."

Joe passed Frank a second set of headphones, and switched on the tape recorder. "Here's the original recording. It's not very long, unfortunately." The brothers listened as Emily and her father exchanged a few hasty words, trying to ignore the fear and desperation in her voice. Emily's voice was rapidly interrupted by one of the kidnappers, his voice distorted to make it unrecognisable.

"I've removed the voices from the tape. Listen to this and tell me what you think it might be," Joe said, switching over to a second copy of the recording.

Frank listened intently. The background sounds were faint and muffled, but he thought he could distinguish a repeated rhythm and the sound of clanging bells.

"Hmmm." Now fully focused, Frank reached over and began manipulating the recording, slowly clearing up the sound while Joe tried to change various settings to improve the quality of the recording.

"Frank…I think it sounds like a train going past. The repeated pattern fades in and out, and the bells could be a signal crossing." Joe looked to his brother, who nodded in agreement.

"Yep, I think that's it. But that doesn't help us much. There are railways and signal crossings all over New York. We need to try and narrow it down further." Frank got up and began pacing, as he always did when he was deep in thought. Joe turned back to the tape, but kept half an eye on his brother.

After a few minutes, Frank turned and said, "Something's been bugging me, Joe. Something about this whole thing that just doesn't make sense."

Joe leaned back in his chair. "What do you mean?"

"Someone breaks in at the museum using the security override to gain access through the main doors. They use the museum director's daughter as leverage. But the code override doesn't do anything to manipulate the infrared cameras which watch over the museum at night. If there were people in the museum, something should have shown up on those. But the tapes are clean."

Joe shrugged. "I just figured that the thieves replaced the tapes, or somehow managed to wipe them."

"But why bother? Infrared cameras can't be used to identify them, and the alarm had been disabled. All that would have been on those tapes is a few colourful blobs moving around the museum taking painting off hooks. Why go to the risk of manipulating the tapes to make it seem like there were no people in the museum?"

"Maybe they're trying to be clever, to gain notoriety or fame or something like that? After all, invisible thieves make a great story," Joe suggested.

"Or maybe they wanted to set up a real mystery, something that would stump the police, so special investigators would have to be called in. Investigators who are familiar with this sort of thing and have a reputation for solving difficult cases, like…"

"Like Dad." Joe finished his brother's thought. "And us."

Frank resumed his pacing. "Don't you think it's weird that we're called into a case like this, at the same time as Nancy is in town? A case that her father was investigating before his death? I don't know, Joe, but I feel like we're being manipulated. Something tells me that us meeting Nancy and getting her involved in this case wasn't as much of a coincidence as we thought."

"You think they deliberately got us involved, so that we'd get Nancy involved, so they could kidnap her? It sounds crazy, Frank – why bother? If they were so desperate to get hold of Nancy, they could have just taken her without involving us." Joe raised his eyebrows. "Why go to these lengths?"

Frank shook his head and buried it in his hands. "I don't know, Joe. I just don't know."

Before they could speculate further, the door burst open and Fenton Hardy emerged, his normally calm demeanour exchanged for hurry that spoke of his deep worry for Nancy and Emily. He was just ending a phone call on his cell: "Yes. Thank you very much. We'll notify you if we need anything else."

"What's up, Dad?" Joe asked as Fenton hung up.

"That was the police bureau. They finally managed to get the location of the phone number Joe acquired at the newspaper. The last known location of that cellphone was here." Fenton spread out the map of New York he'd been holding and pointed to a street in one of the less affluent suburbs.

Frank was already out of his chair. "We have to go there, Dad. It's the only lead we have." But before his father could reply, Joe gave a surprised shout.

"Hang on a minute! This is the same street as the address you got from the university – of that chemistry student."

"That's got to be it. Maybe they're using his old house as a hiding place. Maybe Nancy will be there!"

Fenton nodded at Frank and Joe. "It's definitely worth a shot. But we need to be careful. I've asked for a squad of plain-clothes officers to meet us near that address, but we'll try and go in quietly. The last thing we want on our hands is a hostage situation. Let's go."

As they headed to their car, Frank was aware of a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was relieved to finally be able to doing something to try and help Nancy, but he was also too aware of the risks they were putting themselves, Nancy and Emily Featherstone in. Niggling doubts about the criminal's motives and their interest in Nancy and the Hardy's remained, but he resolutely pushed them aside and focused on one thing – finding Nancy as quickly as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Gosh it has been rather a long time. I've been sitting on the rest of this story for a while. Sorry to keep people waiting! More installments to follow.

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings - Chapter 11**

Emily Featherstone watched in rapt fascination as Nancy knelt by the locked door of the shed in which they were confined. Five minutes with a lockpick, and the lock snapped open with a quiet click. Nancy motioned to Emily to be quiet, as she straightened and pulled the door open, praying that it was well-oiled. Thankfully, the door was so new that it opened with barely a sound. Sticking her head around the door, she saw an untidy and overgrown garden adjacent to an old house, which appeared boarded-up apart from the large and obviously new padlock on the back door. Pulling the door open wider, Nancy motioned to Emily to follow her as she stepped quietly out onto the wet grass. It was still raining, and by the time Nancy had pulled the door closed behind them and locked it again to make it appear as if nothing had changed, they were both soaked to the skin.

"Come on, Emily. Stay with me, keep down and keep quiet," Nancy whispered to the teenager, who nodded, while unable to suppress a smile at finally breathing fresh air after being confined for such a long time. Nancy led the way behind the shed, putting it between them and the house. Although everything appeared deserted, she preferred not to be overlooked in case someone was watching. A high wall ran all the way around the garden, which adjoined onto a patch of woodland. Moving quickly, the two girls crept along the wall, keeping behind the shed and then behind some thick bushes which sheltered them from view. Eventually they reached a high steel gate leading out into the woodland. Nancy tried the handle but it was locked.

"Think we can climb this?" she asked Emily.

"Only one way to find out," came the quick reply. Nancy took another glance at the house, which still appeared to be deserted, then straightened, and with a few practiced moves had pulled herself up the gate and onto the top of the wall. From there, she was able to assist Emily, and both of them quickly jumped down on the other side. Even though it was only late afternoon, dusk was gathering quickly, and the rainclouds and thick treecover ahead made it dark and difficult to see. Neither Nancy nor Emily were deterred as they ran quickly in amongst the trees, trying to put some distance between them and their captors in case they had been spotted. Nancy was glad to be free, but couldn't believe that they were going to get away so easily - after all, the criminals had proven themselves to be both clever and unscrupulous.

Ten minutes into the forest, and they both slowed, the wet ground making it difficult to run quickly. Nancy was about to encourage Emily to keep going, when the girl spoke up, "What's that over there?"

Looking in the direction she was pointing, Nancy saw a small cottage, almost completely hidden by trees and a thick covering of ivy. Moving closer, she saw a light on. Emily was tugging at her arm, clearly worried about who might be inside, but Nancy's investigative instincts were on alert. Something about this cottage in the middle of the forest didn't seem right. She motioned to Emily to wait, then snuck up to a window and peered carefully over the windowsill.

Expecting to see a rustically furnished interior, Nancy was rather shocked at the array of laboratory equipment inside the cottage. The place looked newly furnished with clean bunsen burners, glassware and various other pieces of elaborate machinery. It was obvious that this was a chemicals laboratory, and Nancy was pretty sure she knew what had been made there. Her fingers were itching to get inside and collect evidence, but she knew that their safe getaway was a priority - this cottage would have to be the police's job.

Going back to Emily, Nancy was about to set off again when she noticed something else strange. The girls snuck over to an unshapely mass against one side of the cottage, covered over by a large tarpaulin. Pulling it aside, Nancy and Emily saw large haybales stacked up against the wall, kept dry by the sheeting. Nancy frowned, prodded the bales, then motioned to Emily.

"Nancy?" Emily whispered. "It's just hay."

"And what would someone be doing with hay in a dark forest outside of New York?" Nancy countered. Pulling aside some of the strands of the nearest bale, it didn't take long for something hard to emerge. Nancy smiled.

"Plastic tubes. I thought so. Think some of the art museum's property might be in here maybe? I'm sure your father will be pleased to see these again."

"Not as pleased as he'll be to see me!" Emily whispered back, jubilant at having escaped and finding the missing paintings all in one go. But just then, a light fell on her face, and her expression went from joy to terror.

"Well, what have we here?" a male voice said.

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Enjoyed? Review!


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Thanks for all your kind reviews. Sorry for the wait – I was abroad and computer-less.

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings – Chapter 12**

Nancy turned to see a gun barrel pointed at her head. Moving slowly she straightened, trying to see who was holding it, but the torchlight blinded her eyes.

"Inside. Now. Both of you!" the man said, motioning with the weapon. Nancy nodded to Emily and took her hand, feeling the poor girl suppress a shiver at the sight of the gun. Together they entered the small cottage, followed by the man who, now illuminated by the lamps, appeared to be no older than 25. He was of slight build, with untidy hair, and although he was putting on a mask of bravado, Nancy noticed the hand holding the gun shaking imperceptibly.

"Are you Jonathan Swanson?" she ventured, before she even realised what she was saying.

"How did you…? Never mind my name, what are you doing here?"

Realising that it would be impossible to conceal their identities from him, she said, "I'm Nancy Drew. This is Emily. We were…we were out in the woods and stumbled across your place."

"Nice try. I know who you are. How did you get away?"

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve. You are Jonathan Swanson. Your professor at the university told me about you. You're working for criminals, you do realise that – they've kept us imprisoned and they wouldn't hesitate to kill us." Nancy kept a close eye on the student, hoping that her words would make an impact. He didn't seem like a hardened criminal; in fact, his whole demeanour told her that he was just as scared as she was. Perhaps he could be convinced to help them.

"Alright. Yes, I'm Jonathan."

"Look, Jonathan, you have us at gun point. You're in control here. But I would really like to know why you are working for these people, and why you helped them kill my father."

Jonathan blanched. The gun hand dropped. "Wh…What are you talking about?" he whispered, shaken.

Nancy looked down. "My father was killed by the people you are working for, and they used Diretol 5 to do it. You did make it for them, didn't you?"

Jonathan was backing up, shaking his head, "No, no, no, that can't be true. They said…they said they were growing plants and needed a powerful pesticide…" He stopped, realising how it sounded.

"They're criminals, Jonathan. They wouldn't hesitate to lie to you. They've been using you."

The gun forgotten, Jonathan sat down in a corner, looking thoroughly defeated, all his earlier bravado gone. "They gave me this lab. They said I had free rein to experiment, gave me ingredients and equipment. They asked me to make Diretol for them. I didn't stop to think why they might need it. I knew they were shady, but they promised me money and the chance to research whatever I wanted…" He looked at Nancy. "Please believe me. I had no idea what they were going to do."

Nancy considered him for a moment. Although she knew that this man had provided the tools that led to her father's death, she couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Her intuition told her that this man had been manipulated.

"It's ok. I believe you. But what about the paintings?"

"They just asked me if they could store some things here. I didn't realise what they were, or didn't want to. I was in the middle of this experiment, see, and so I just didn't…" He trailed off.

"…didn't think." Nancy finished for him.

He nodded. "Oh god, this is all such a mess. What am I going to do?"

"You can help us. It's not too late to make things right." Nancy said, stepping towards him. He didn't move. The gun was still in his hand. "Jonathan, if you help us, things could turn out ok yet. You've made some mistakes, but you can make up for them, do the right thing." She stepped closer. "Give me the gun, Jonathan."

He looked up at her. She smiled, seeing the lost little boy inside, the student who had rebelled against the constraints of academia because he wanted to set out on his own and who had been unwittingly manipulated by evil men. She held out her hand, waiting.

"I…I don't even know how to use it," Jonathan smiled ruefully, placing the gun in Nancy's hand. She quickly took the clip out, then smiled down at him.

"You did the right thing. Now come on, we have to get out of here now, before someone realises we're gone."

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, raised voices could be heard outside. Emily dashed to the window, then turned in horror.

"It's them. They're here!" Nancy joined her to see black figures holding torches, clearly sweeping the woods for tracks and heading directly for the cottage. They were only a few hundred yards away.

Nancy turned to Jonathan. "We have to go."

"You won't get away in time. I'll stay here, cover for you. I'll tell them I saw you but you ran away in the other direction." He opened the back door of the cottage, out into the dark woods. "This way. Keep going for 2 or 3 miles and you should hit the city. Go! They're nearly here."

Emily and Nancy headed for the door. At the last moment, Nancy turned. "Thanks, Jonathan. Be careful"

He smiled at her. "You too. Now go."

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Sorry, another cliffhanger! I'm already working on the next chapter though, so don't despair!


	13. Chapter 13

**The Case of the Missing Paintings – Chapter 13**

Joe yanked open the door to the rickety old shed. Behind him, Frank and a police officer craned their necks, but Joe turned.

"They're not here, Frank."

"Damn it." Frank stepped into the small space and looked around. It was pretty bare, but small signs, like the half-empty bottle of water and the blanket tossed in a corner, suggested that someone had been here.

"Maybe they got out. You know how handy Nancy is with a lockpick." Joe stepped up, noticing the look on Frank's face.

"Yeah. If she had one on her. Any news from the house?"

As they stepped back into the overgrown garden, Fenton jogged towards them. The look on his face was plain.

"Nothing. You?"

"I think they were here. The place looks like someone's been kept there recently, probably Emily judging by the solid lock. They're not there now."

"Let's not give up just yet. The police are securing the house to search for evidence. Why don't we take a look around?"

Joe said, "If Nancy managed to unlock the door, they'll have run for it."

Frank straightened his shoulders. "Right. Let's think. Nancy would have taken the safest way out, to make sure Emily was ok. What's the best way out of here to avoid being seen?"

Together, the three Hardy's looked around, wandering around to the back of the shed. Joe spotted it first. "Frank! A footprint!"

Frank squatted and had a look. "It looks about the right size for a woman."

More confident now, they moved on until they came to the gate. Frank and Joe looked at each other, then hoisted themselves up on to the wall without so much as a word. On the other side, they found another footprint belonging to one of the girls, but Joe also spotted rather more worrying male footprints.

"Looks like they were followed."

"They could be in trouble. These prints are fresh." Frank turned to their father.

"You boys go, fast as you can. I'll send police to the most likely exit points from these woods. We'll move in from all sides and see if we can pick them up."

Without so much as another look, Frank was off, dashing through the forest as quickly as he could. It was getting dark, but the soft ground showed up an occasional print to let him know he was heading in the right direction. Heart pounding from the effort of running on uneven ground, uncertainty about the situation and worry about Nancy running through his mind, he was brought up short when Joe spotted the cottage.

"What do you think? Should we take a look?"

"No time. We…" At that moment, the door opened, and a man was silhouetted in the doorway. Joe and Frank moved closer, unsure as to what this new peril might be. As they got closer, they saw with horror that the man had been beaten badly. His head was covered in blood, his nose broken, and he looked as if he could barely stand. As Joe and Frank rushed up to help him, he keeled over on the porch of the cottage.

"We'll get help, don't worry," Joe reassured, then pulled out his cellphone and called Fenton. While he was on the phone, Frank turned back to the young man.

"We're looking for two young women. Have you…?"

Jonathan interrupted him. "Nancy and Emily. They were here."

"You've seen them? Where did they go?" Frank could barely contain himself.

"Being chased by…them. Back door. Stalled for them. I don't think Ringo liked that much." He trailed off, coughing up bloodied saliva.

"Thank you," Frank said, rolling Jonathan onto his side so he wouldn't choke. Just then Joe came over. "Dad's sending some people, but we can't leave him like this."

Frank filled him in on what Jonathan had said. "I have to go after them. Can you stay here?"

"Are you sure, Frank? These guys mean business."

"Exactly. I can't let them catch up to the girls. I'm sorry, Joe."

Joe hesitated, wondering if he could leave the injured man, but racking coughs and chokes from Jonathan made it clear that he had to wait until further help arrived. "Wish I could come with you. You know you always get into trouble when I'm not there to watch your back."

"Don't be daft. I'm always the one pulling you out of scrapes." Frank grinned.

Joe gave him a brief hug. "I'll follow as soon as I can. Good luck."

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More to come soon! Reviews make me happy. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**The Case of the Missing Paintings – Chapter 14**

Nancy peered out from behind a tree. The men, only shadows now in the dark evening, were off ahead and to the left of her. She smiled to herself. She and Emily had run for a while, then doubled back, making sure not to leave any more footprints, walking on fallen tree trunks and patches of moss and avoiding the softer ground. It seemed to have worked. The men chasing them didn't seem to know which way they had gone. She made a sign to Emily, and together they crept off in the opposite direction, back the way they had come.

"Looks like your plan worked," Emily whispered. Nancy just nodded, trying not to make a sound. Once they were far enough away, they began to move more quickly, until they were running again. Nancy wasn't entirely sure which direction they were going, but as long as they didn't get caught, they'd find their way out of the forest eventually. She was so deep in thought that she didn't see the shadow of a man in front of her until she bumped into him, so hard that they crashed to the ground together. She landed on top of him, knocking all the breath out of both of them.

Frank felt dazed for a second from being knocked to the ground. By the last glimmer of the evening light, he could make out some very familiar auburn hair. "Nancy?" he whispered.

"Frank?" Nancy's eyes widened in joy, then she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "Frank, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Nancy." Frank could barely speak, filled with the joy of finally having her back. His arms tightened around her and he closed his eyes, just revelling in the moment, in the feel of her in his arms, the reality that she was there. After a long moment he pulled back to look at her. "Are you ok?" he whispered, stroking a lock of hair back from her eyes.

"I'm fine. We're both fine," Nancy reassured him, smiling at him. Suddenly she realised the position that they were in, and scrambled back, without noticing the look of disappointment on his face. Unaccountably, she felt embarrassed.

"I was so worried about you. We all were. What happened?" Frank asked, wishing at the same time that he could just take her back in his arms.

"Long story. I'm just glad we got away. How did you figure out where we were?"

Frank quickly explained the clues that had led them to their current position. The news about Jonathan's injuries shook her. "He helped us, Frank. He's not a bad person."

"Joe's with him. We're not far off. Let's head back that way and see if we can catch up with him and Dad."

Nancy turned to look for Emily, embarrassed that she had forgotten her in her joy at seeing Frank again. "Emily?"

"How nice to see you again, Miss Drew, and at such a touching reunion. Mr Hardy, you'll forgive me for requesting you stay back, otherwise Miss Featherstone here might receive a little...injury. I'm sure you wouldn't want that." In horror, Nancy and Frank saw Emily paralysed in fright with a gun to her head, held by the same man who had confronted Nancy in the shed, the same man who was responsible for her father's death.

"Yes, you thought your little get-away stunt was working, didn't you? I'm not stupid, Miss Drew. I knew you'd get away. I'm so glad you managed it in time for Mr Hardy to join us."

Frank finally found his voice.

"OK, Mr...whoever you are. You've got us. Don't hurt Emily. You've been setting this whole thing up from the beginning. What do you want?"

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Am I evil? I promise the ending is not far off! Thanks for all your reviews!


	15. Chapter 15

AN: All your reviews have been very kind. Thank you!

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings – Chapter 15**

"How perceptive of you, Mr Hardy. I have been setting you up, and it has worked perfectly. In fact, better than I could have planned it myself, due to Miss Drew's involvement here."

Frank was struck by the surreality of the situation. Here they were, standing in a dark forest having a sane conversation with a madman holding a gun. Emily had stopped struggling; the poor girl was paralysed with fright.

"What do you want?" he asked again.

"I want to discredit you, Mr Hardy. You and your stupid brother. Of course, the money I'll make from selling the paintings is a nice bonus, but I knew that if I set up a mystery, I could get access to you boys. Your father's former links to the NYPD, and my contacts in the police department, made his involvement a certainty, and I knew he'd get you involved too. What with your 'success' at solving mysteries." Frank could hear the disdain in his voice.

"What's wrong with our success? Is this revenge for something?" he asked.

"Your _success_. Your _talent_. Both of them are bullshit. You and your brother may have been solving mysteries since you were teenagers, but your success is down to sheer dumb luck. You should have died a hundred times. You've just been lucky. You boys have a reputation, you know, amongst people of my...profession. Everyone talks about how, once the Hardys are involved, getting caught is inevitable. Well, not this time. I'm going to prove that you two aren't perfect. I'm going to make this the one case that ruins your reputation for ever. It's a shame your brother isn't here, but Miss Drew will do just as well."

"Just as well for what?" Frank asked, stepping in front of Nancy protectively.

"For killing, Mr Hardy. Just think what will happen to your crime-fighting reputation if two lovely young women die on this case. No one will ever hire you again. And if I'm not mistaking your macho bravado here, I think this one will hit you personally as well."

Nancy spoke up, coming forward to stand close to Frank. "So you're saying that you're going to kill us just to prove a point? To show off in front of the criminal world, that you got the better of the Hardys? You sick bastard!"

"Tut, tut. Language, Miss Drew. What would your father say? Oh, I forgot – it's too late to ask him, isn't it?"

Frank squeezed Nancy's hand, trying to will her some calm. He could feel her shaking with anger and fear, but her voice was measured.

"You killed my father. I asked you why once before. If you're going to kill me, you may as well tell me first."

"Very well. Quite simply, your father had put together some information that would have kept me from carrying out this plan. He'd figured out that someone was planning to hit the National Museum. He put me in jail twenty years ago, before you were even born. I never forgot it, but it seems he didn't forget me either, and after I was released, he kept tabs on me. He knew I was planning something, and I couldn't let him put two and two together. It's just a shame that the poison was discovered, but on the other hand, it does give me the chance to send his daughter to join him. I get my own back all round, not to mention a serious boost when people find out I bested the famous Hardy boys. Satisfied?"

Nancy couldn't answer; she was trembling with fury and fear. Frank spoke instead, more to keep the conversation going while he tried to figure out how to get the gun away from this raving lunatic, or until Joe arrived.

"So what now?"

"Well, now I'm going to kill the lovely Miss Featherstone, and the lovely Miss Drew, and then knock you out. I'll get away, and you'll be left with two bodies to explain. And don't even think about trying to get to me – I'll shoot Miss Featherstone before you move an inch." He pressed the gun to Emily's temple, as if to prove the point. She struggled silently, too terrified to scream, but he only held her tighter.

"Even if you kill them, you won't get away. There are police surrounding these woods, my brother and father are on their way, and your associates seem to have disappeared. Your plan won't work." Frank's mind was working desperately, but he couldn't see a way out without risking Emily's life. This man was clearly insane, but Frank knew he was capable of pulling the trigger.

"Oh yes it will. You'll see. Now I think we've had enough talk. Time to say goodnight to little Emily." His finger tightened on the trigger and he grinned maniacally.

"Don't!" Frank cried out, but his voice was drowned out by a deafening gunshot.

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Reviews might make me deal with this cliffhanger nice and quickly... ;)


	16. Chapter 16

AN: I had a major case of writer's block with this chapter. It was one of those occasions where you know exactly what you want to happen but the words just won't go on the page to make it happen. So apologies for the delay, and apologies for shortcomings in this chapter.

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**The Case of the Missing Paintings – Chapter 16**

Frank opened his eyes, which he'd closed reflexively when the gun went off. At his side, Nancy slowly lowered the gun in her hand. Ringo slumped to the ground, releasing his grip on Emily. She fled a few paces, then collapsed to the ground, her blood-spattered face portraying shock at what she had just witnessed. Frank ran over to the body on the ground which bore a bullet hole in the chest, slowly trickling blood. There was still a pulse. He turned to Nancy.

"He's still alive."

Nancy just stood, staring. Frank walked back to her.

"Nancy?" No response. He reached over and took the gun from her hand. His touch seemed to bring her round.

"Frank?" Her eyes were huge.

"It's ok. He's still alive. Nancy, since when do you carry a gun?"

"I don't. I took it off Jonathan at the cottage. I only learnt how to use one because Dad insisted, just in case."

"Well, thank God you did, otherwise Emily would be dead. You did the right thing, the only thing." Frank tried to reassure her quietly. He took her hand in his, desperately wishing he could take away the haunted look in her eyes. At that moment, however, the sound of cracking twigs came from behind them.

"Who's there?" Frank said, poised for more trouble. Instead, he breathed a sigh of relief as Joe stepped out from behind a tree, quickly followed by Fenton and two police officers.

"God, I'm so glad you're both okay. We heard the gunshot. What happened?" Joe asked, embracing first Frank and then Nancy. As Frank filled him in on events, Fenton and the policemen went over to Ringo, and Nancy went to Emily, who fell sobbing into her arms, thanking her over and over again.

Soon the woods were filled with police and ambulance crews. Ringo was taken to hospital, while Joe helped Emily towards an ambulance, and handed her his phone so she could call her father. Nancy and Frank walked with Fenton, but as Frank filled his father in on the events of the evening, he couldn't help noticing Nancy's silence.

Back at the hotel the next morning, Nancy and the Hardys gathered. Fenton began,

"'Ringo', whoever he is, is still in intensive care. The police are still working on getting his identity, but I think we can believe his assertion that Carson put him in jail. Either way, he won't be going anywhere else. The police were able to round up most of his associates, although they haven't figured out who the criminals' contact in the police department was. With a bit of enticement, one of them will talk. Jonathan Swanson is also in custody, but he's agreed to testify against the thieves, and as he wasn't directly involved, he will probably get a light sentence."

"Dad, what happened to the paintings?" Frank asked.

"They've been returned to the museum. Some of them have suffered minor damage, but the conservators should be able to restore them. I've already spoken to the French Embassy, who extend their thanks to all of you as well. Mr Greenward also asked me to express his deepest gratitude to you." Fenton smiled. "Case closed."

"Did Emily make it home ok?" Joe wanted to know.

"Yes. I imagine her father is a very happy man right now."

There was a short pause. Nancy, who hadn't spoken a word so far, raised her head.

"I...I wanted to say thanks as well. Without your help I would never have found out why Dad was murdered. At least now I know."

"Nancy, what are you going to do now?" Frank asked her. He hated the idea of letting her out of his sight, but knew that now wasn't the right time.

"I'm going home. My flight's in an hour. After that...I'm not really sure."

Fenton stepped up and gave her a warm hug.

"If you need anything, Nancy, you know who to ask." She nodded, feeling suddenly teary. As Joe took his turn, he whispered in her ear,

"Come and visit sometime, Nancy. I think it'd be good...for all of us." He looked at Frank as he stepped back.

"Frank...I don't really know what to say. Except...thanks." Frank hugged her tightly, not really knowing how to say what he wanted to say. He just held her for a long moment, then released her and stepped back, nodding one last time as she looked back from the door.

"Frank, what are you doing?" Joe asked as Nancy left. "Are you just going to let her leave?"

"For now, Joe. For now."

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Not the end! One more left! Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Case of the Missing Paintings – Chapter 17**

Nancy sheltered the flickering candle from the breeze, then bent and placed it in the small lantern, firmly shutting the little glass door to protect the flame. It danced merrily as Nancy straightened and stepped back, raising her eyes to the inscribed grey marble in front of her.

"Hi, Dad," she said quietly. As she stood, head bowed, at her father's grave, Nancy reflected on what had happened in New York four weeks ago. At the time, events had moved so quickly she hadn't been able to contemplate everything that had happened, and when it was over, she'd just wanted to get away from it. She had tried to focus her attention on other things, and during the day, it was easy – there were still some legalities relating to her father's estate to deal with, and she had made some alterations to the house she had inherited from him. Hannah had helped her by being as calm and efficient as always, assuring Nancy that there was plenty of time to make decisions about her future.

However, nights were a different matter. Nancy's dreams were filled with jagged, disjointed images of herself and her friends in danger. Her dreams would always end with the sound of a gunshot, and she would wake, not knowing who was dead or alive, and unable to slip back into a more restful sleep.

As Nancy stood lost in thought, the autumn breeze tugging at her auburn hair, a figure appeared next to her. Frank bent and laid a large flower wreath on Carson Drew's grave, then stood beside Nancy in silence. Minutes passed in silence, until Nancy finally spoke.

"They're beautiful," she said, looking at the wreath of purple and white blooms. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," Frank replied, not looking at her. "Your father was a good man. I wanted to pay my respects."

Standing for another moment, then bowing her head and saying a silent farewell, Nancy turned and began to walk towards the cemetery exit. Frank walked alongside, uncharacteristically quiet. Nancy stopped at the gate.

"You didn't come here just to bring flowers." Frank nodded.

"I came to tell you the news. The police finally managed to trace Ringo. His real name was Sean Davison, and your father helped convict him of theft and illegal export of artworks twenty-two years ago. He was released from prison three years ago and broke his parole, but he had friends in the police department who kept him off the radar. All his associates have been caught now, too, and are awaiting trial." Frank paused.

"And Ringo...I mean, Davison?" Nancy was hesitant.

"He died in hospital four days ago." Frank saw Nancy flinch. "He woke up long enough to confess to the art theft and kidnapping, and signed a 'Do not resuscitate' order. After that...there was nothing they could do."

Nancy bowed her head. She had been trying hard not to think about the man she had shot, the man who was now dead because of her actions.

Frank knew instinctively what was going through her head. With only the smallest hesitation, he lifted her chin, making her look at him.

"Don't...just don't. It's not your fault. You weren't the one who killed him. His own choices are responsible for that. And people are alive because of you. I spoke to Walter Featherstone yesterday, who asked me to convey his deepest thanks to you again. We all know you saved Emily's life, and that's all that matters. You don't have to feel guilty." He willed Nancy to believe the truth in his words.

Nancy's eyes began to fill with tears. "I know, Frank. It's just...I never thought I would ever have to do that...shoot someone. But then, I never thought I'd ever deal with a madman like that."

Frank pulled her into his arms, and they stood, embracing. Nancy found herself so comforted by his presence that the tears that had been threatening to escape disappeared completely. She wondered if Frank's presence would be enough to stop her nightmares as well as her tears.

"Nancy," Frank whispered in her ear, "I have to ask you something." She straightened and pulled back, but didn't let go of his hands.

"What is it?" she said, then wondered what was wrong as he looked away and shuffled his feet, betraying his nervousness.

"I was...wondering...that is... Nancy, where's Ned? You never mentioned him in New York, and I thought he'd be here at the cemetery with you." Frank looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her reactions to the question he'd been dreading since he'd last seen her in New York.

Nancy looked at him, her eyes blazing honesty at him. "Ned left."

Frank processed those two simple words, and all that was implied within them. He'd thought carefully about what he would say to Nancy, had rehearsed a hundred versions, tried different words to express his feelings. But, to his surprise, he found he didn't need words, not when Nancy was suddenly smiling her radiant smile at him. He didn't need words when she stepped back into his arms and locked her hands around his neck, nor when he finally bent to kiss her. And when they parted, slightly breathless and blushing, and Nancy tucked her arm into his and they walked together towards her house, Frank decided that words were vastly overrated. He and Nancy had all the time in the world now.

**The End**

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AN: So, there it is. Apologies for taking nearly three years to get to the end of this little story! I couldn't resist a happy ending for Frank and Nancy. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with it, reviewed it, and made me want to finish it.

I have no immediate plans to write any more Hardy/Drew fiction (my next challenge is going to be taking part in **National Novel Writing Month** in November), but who knows – maybe in another three years I'll get round to a sequel!


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